


The sword and the cut

by elenatria



Series: Briemund [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blood Fetish, F/M, Secret Lovers, Smut, mutual undressing, where it is explained how Tormund got that cut on his forehead in s07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 06:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11156634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenatria/pseuds/elenatria
Summary: Brienne takes Oathkeeper with her everywhere. And I mean *everywhere*.





	The sword and the cut

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: harsh language, explicit content.
> 
> It had to be a one-shot because... it had to be a one-shot. Because I'd rather write one-shots than do actual work on the two Briemund fics I'm writing atm. Which is ridiculous. But anyway.  
> Thanks to Cheyletiella for the accidental prompt and to Bad Cop for her interaction with inspiring fans and their interesting theories.

                                                      

 

She knew she was going to regret this.

“Come, girl, just a half hour, she’ll never notice your absence, come here, just…”

He had already pinned her against the outer wall of the broken tower. It had to be that tower, away from prying eyes, however she was surprised that he took the time to find a safe haven for their intimacies that would keep them hidden from the crowd. Usually he’d just take her wherever he could, wherever she let him. The cellar, the stables, the godswood – that was his favourite, “Under the watchful eye of the gods, and damn if they’re not the biggest peepers of us all.” He would burst into a roaring laughter before fucking her like an animal, like it was their last day on earth, gods or no gods. He would fuck her until she screamed, whenever he could, wherever he could, and make her feel like a wild beast herself.

She tried to protest, her back against the wall, but her feeble objections were drowned in a kiss that was so deep and obscene that she felt they wouldn’t make it to the top of the tower after all; she would gladly ride him right there and then, and hopefully the crows wouldn’t tell on them.

“Let’s… let’s get upstairs first, alright?” She was still desperate to salvage any last fragments of her decency. “It’s bound to be more comfortable there… compared to the _stairway_ , yes?” She was trying to breathe as she hastily walked up the stairs but his eager hands on her buttocks were blocking any decent amount of oxygen from reaching her brain, let alone allow her to have any coherent thoughts about their comfort and safety. A couple of times she just stopped halfway up the stairs and closed her eyes, unable to resist his hot aroused breathing down the back of her neck as he planted kisses behind her ears and plunged his hands into her trousers, reaching for her swollen cleft.

“I’ll fuck that delicious coyness out of you,” he muttered as he groped her breast. “And don’t think I’ll let you leave this tower before the stars come out.”

“You said a half hour would be enough,” she complained trying to catch her breath.

“Well I lied.”

“But Lady Sans-“

“Lady Sansa can wait,” he purred as he pressed his body against her. “You won’t get away this time. Tell her you had your hands full – and your mouth for that matter.”

“Oh gods, Tormund… Oh…” She was unable to finish the sentence although she couldn’t tell exactly what was stopping her, his profanity or the feel of his hot throbbing erection between her cheeks. He was a persistent one.

When they finally reached the top of the tower the crows fluttered out of the broken rooftop with a startled cawing, and then they were all alone. The sun slipping through the ruins blinded her for a moment and she shaded her eyes, giving Tormund enough time to slide his hands around her belt and trace the buckle impatiently like a boy fingering his new toy. “Why are you still wearing this thing,” he grunted as he pulled her hips violently against his crotch, supposedly to gain access to the buckle.

“Let me… let me take it off myself.”

“No time,” he panted with excitement, his voice dark with lust.

The belt was miraculously unbuckled before she could blink, and the trophy was now in his hands, sword and sheath.

Brienne suddenly forgot where she was, with whom she was. She went back to being the sworn sword, the vigilant warrior, the bodyguard whose life depended on her blade. “Give it here, let me put it aside.”

Tormund tilted his head; so it was still there, her need to be in control, to be alert and ready for battle any time, any place. _Her precious sword._

He really hated that sword. He hated the pompous lion pommel, showing teeth that couldn’t bite, and he didn’t even know why. That wouldn’t do, not if he were to give her the pounding of her life. And he surely wouldn’t let one mundane detail spoil the mood.

“You want it? Come and get it.”

Brienne exhaled loudly; she couldn’t believe he was doing this.

“Don’t be a child, Tormund, give it to me.”

“Ah ah ah!” he said tossing it in the air and grabbing it right under the hilt. “When you’re with me you’re not a sworn sword or anybody’s protector, remember? You’re here to feel my cock – nothing else. When you’re with me you’re mine, _all_ mine. You understand me?”

Brienne pressed her lips until they were a thin angry line.

“ _You_ don’t understand,” she said grabbing Oathkeeper with both hands. “It’s Valyrian steel, it’s inval-“

“It _is_ … what it _is,”_ he said calmly and glared down on her. “Let it _go!_ ”

“Tormund!... Just… give it…”

They both started tugging the sword, struggling to overpower each other, grunting and hissing and huffing and puffing until Brienne let it go for a split second causing Tormund to hit his own head with the heavy metal hilt with such force that it made a cut on his forehead.

“Oooh!...” he exclaimed in pain and let go of Oathkeeper at once. The sheathed sword fell on the floor with a clang but Brienne was too shocked to care as she covered her mouth. “I’m _so_ sorry!...”

Tormund wiped the blood and looked at his fingers with eyes wide open. Then he remembered the priceless blade on the floor.

“Your steel.”

“Your _forehead_. _”_

Tormund sighed and lowered his eyes in what looked a lot like shame; a rare phenomenon for certain.

“Forget about my forehead…”

“And you, forget about my steel.” Brienne traced gently the delicate freckled skin around his cut. “Does it hurt?”

He shook his head reassuringly. “It’s fine, it’s…”

And then he paused as he noticed a strange glimmer in her eyes.

It was lust.

“What is it?”

“N-nothing.” She took a step back wiping her hands on her hips as she looked away embarrassed – she was already getting sweaty.

Tormund grinned; he had accidentally discovered her weakness, her _fetish,_ although he didn’t know there was a word for it. He just _felt_ it.

He knew he didn’t have to do anything anymore. All he had to do was stand there, and wait.

Brienne approached him slowly staring into his eyes. He was just standing still, hands open, waiting for her to make the first move, and he was simply _to die for_. Ready for anything and eager to be devoured.

It was her turn to unbuckle his belt. She took her time; she looked up, she wanted to savour the hungry look in his eyes, the faint smile, the deep breaths as she pushed her fingers between the belt and his clothes, the hidden pulsating hard-on that she accidentally brushed with her stomach as she put her arms around him to loosen the belt on his back. While she was busy undressing him he couldn’t resist caressing the whole of her arms sending chills down her spine, a timid gesture but arousing nonetheless. She knew it was a matter of minutes before she got on her knees and made him melt in her mouth with her gentle ministrations, before he pushed her on the floor face down, sticking his manhood so deep that she would bite her fingers so as not to scream, so as not to be heard by peasants walking past the tower. The abandoned building was isolated from the rest of Winterfell but despite her best efforts experience had taught her that her screams would certainly be heard. Loud and clear.

However he just let her untie his belt and remove his furs piece by piece while he caressed her shoulders, her arms and her back, never letting himself go near her, no more than she wanted him to, no more than he had to. After all he knew that making her yearn for him would make her feel in control; and being in control made her wetter than ever, he knew that _very well._

When they were finally done they rushed down the stairs of the tower as the stars started filling the sky like diamonds at the bottom of a dark lake. He smiled at them as he saw her running towards the Great Keep, towards Sansa’s quarters, hilt in hand, and he wondered joyously what excuse she would come up with. After all they had done he still couldn’t decide what was the most memorable moment of their intercourse that day: her thirsty lips engulfing his manhood, the feel of her sweaty round hips as he buried himself deeper and deeper inside her, or simply the mild delightful pain on his forehead; the cut that was more than visible but whose origin would remain a sweet mystery to all but the two of them, the innocent trace of their lovemaking in plain sight.

He really loved that sword.


End file.
